Posts Tagged ‘Jeff Hawkins’

By Kari Williams
It floats in the air, mixing with the smoke that just lifted from the cigarette being held by the elderly man sitting two rows in front of me. As I look around, watching wrestlers walk back and forth, talking to fans and acquaintances, it hovers above them, below them and around them. It even consumes them—both the fans and the wrestlers.

But what is, it?

It is a feeling, an emotion, that one moment in time when you feel that you are a part of something special. That is what wrestling is all about anyway, isn’t it?

When Shawn Michaels retired Ric Flair, you knew there was something special about that moment, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it could you? But you had to be there. You had to be a part of it?

But what is, it?

It is the drive to succeed, to overcome the evil hell hounds that have been nipping at your heels. That single moment in time in which your whole life flashes before your eyes. You see yourself growing up, chasing it and doing your best to capture it. That is what wrestling is all about anyway, isn’t it?

When Eddie Guerrero defeated Brock Lesnar at No Way Out 2003 to win his first Heavyweight Title you cheered for him, didn’t you? You knew that his whole life culminated at the exact moment he raised that belt above his head for the very first time. He felt it.

But what is, it?

Honestly, I do not think there is an answer to that question. Asking what that intangible entity is that keeps fans coming back to wrestling time and again is like asking how to find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. You do not know if there is a pot of gold, you just live your life searching for it — even if is turns out to be an illusive trick.

Something compels you to watch wrestlers sacrifice their bodies and souls. May 17 in East Carondelet, Jeff Hawkins, Phil E. Blunt, Steve Montana and Jeremy Lightfoot went at each other in a Hardcore Match. A Mick Foley-like 2 X 4 wrapped in barbed-wire, a staple gun and a steel chair, among other inanimate objects that were used as weapons to smother and utterly destroy the competitors.

But why did they do it? Why did they go to that length, put themselves through that brutal of a match, only to leave that night with bumps and bruises and multiple staple holes in their body?

For the same reason that Shawn Michaels retired Ric Flair, the same reason that Eddie Guerrero won the Heavyweight Title — they knew what it was, even if it did not enter their conscience at the time.